Claimed by the vampire prince Chapter 471

She returned to Zeriel’s chambers in the evening the following day.

The room was dim, lit by the sa cluster of candles that had been burning for quite a while now, lted wax pooling and hardening at their base. She shut the door behind herself quietly and stood for a mont, letting her eyes survey the space for what felt like the thousandth ti.

The physician had been in there earlier. She could tell by the fresh linens and the faint sll of dicinal herbs that still hung in the air. Not that it had done much good.

Over the past several days, Zeriel had been in severe pain, much to Nheera’s satisfaction. The physician had been at a loss, unable to do more than offer weak redies that brought no real relief.

Nheera had listened to the reports each ti with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her expression arranged to resemble that of a worried wife.

Laheir had told her it would happen this way and she had co back, again and again, not only to maintain the image of the devoted wife but because she had found, to her own satisfaction, that watching him suffer was sothing she was not willing to deprive herself of.

There was an almost depraved pleasure in it. She had increased the frequency of her visits these past few days, and no one had found reason to question it. Of course the queen would keep close vigil at her husband’s side.

But tonight, as she walked toward the bed, sothing was different.

Zeriel lay completely still.

The pain that had twisted his features over these last few days was gone. He looked limp. Almost peaceful. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths barely visible from where she stood, and his face had relaxed. He looked unbothered. Undisturbed. Like a man resting after a long day’s work.

Sothing about it put her teeth on edge.

She had co here carrying the full weight of the day’s frustrations. Dougol’s uselessness. The news about Ragnar. The letter she had written that now sat in her desk drawer, waiting to be handed off to a ssenger.

All that was needed and expected of her had slowly chipped pieces out of her, and she had walked these halls with those burdens pressing at the back of her throat since early afternoon.

And here he was. Looking so serene.

Nheera sneered at him.

"Where is your little heir now?" she said. She moved to the chair beside the bed but she didn’t sit. "You have been lying here like this for days and Ragnar has not co to see you even once. Not a single visit. The child you were so determined to keep, the one you brought into this palace at the expense of everything else and yet he does not care whether you live or die. Isn’t that pathetic."

She folded her arms and regarded him.

"As for where he actually is. He had vanished without a trace. Your bastard is missing. He went east with the hunting party and disappeared. They found the bodies of the other hunters and even beasts. But no Ragnar. He was just gone." The corner of her mouth pulled up into a mirthless smile. "He is probably dead sowhere in that forest. Torn apart, if the fenrars found him first. If not them, then sothing else perhaps. That forest is known to be treacherous and not kind to anyone who overstays their welco."

She looked at his face.

"You gambled everything on him. Everything. And for what?"

She had more to say. There was plenty more where that ca from. But sothing made her stop.

His eyes were open.

They had not been open a mont ago. She was certain of it. But there they were now, half-lidded, staring sothing into the distance. His gaze was vacant, like there was no thought behind his eyes.

Nheera stood very still for a mont.

Then she reached out and placed her hand over his face, her palm covering his eyes, and gently drew them shut. He did not react. Did not flinch or pull away. His skin was warm beneath her finger.

She held her hand there briefly before withdrawing it.

She remained at his bedside.

After a while, her eyes drifted to his chest. She watched it, waiting to see the shallow movents but his chest did not move.

She watched for longer than she ant to.

Then she pressed two fingers to his neck, just below the jaw.

Nothing.

There was no pulse. No faint rhythmic pressure against her fingertips.

She stepped back.

Her lips parted. The sound that escaped her was quiet— a short, involuntary laugh, startled out of her before she could think to contain it. She pressed her hand over her mouth imdiately after, muffling it.

Dead. He was dead.

The word moved through her slowly, taking its ti before settling into sothing that felt real. She had wanted this for years. Had worked toward it with patience and more restraint than she had known she possessed. And now it was done. He was gone. He would never rise from this bed. He would never humiliate her again and most of all, he would never be able to put his bastard above her own children ever again.

The joy she felt right then was so bountiful, that it practically leaked from her pores but she knew that she could not indulge in a single second of it.

She exhaled through her nose, cald herself, and turned her gaze toward the closed door.

Her work was not finished. It had only shifted into its next phase.

She placed a hand over her chest, pressed her fingers flat against her sternum, and let herself breathe. One breath. Two. Then she opened her mouth and the quiet laughter faded away entirely, replaced by sothing else—a broken gasp, the sound of a woman whose composure had just given way, cracking into a million pieces.

"Zeriel." She called out to him. The next ti she said it, her voice was louder and shrill.

"Zeriel." Her voice cracked on the last syllable.

She let her knees buckle beneath her.

She allowed herself to fall to the floor. Her breathing ca in uneven bursts, her shoulders trembling, her face wet with fake tears she had pulled to the surface through sheer force of will. She called his na again, sounding desperate while she put on the perfect act.